#7.
I remember when I was lost
the beautiful desperation in my eyes
the stolen moments with strangers
the chemical kisses & blood sisters
anarchy of heart & soul
an engulfing flame/ consuming all.


Now when I dream of freedom – my dreams are greater
then low-rent tumbles in dirty sheets
but every now and then – she whispers to me
on the language of the Old Land
and my handwriting scratches onto the pure, white paper
as I write my future with her blood as ink.

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